A Thousand Cuts
I was out in my front yard trimming the hedge the other day, just snip-snip-snipping away, lost in time and space. Out of the corner of my eye I see a man (not a kid) zipping down the street on his skateboard. He flew past, then spun around and came back. “Do you need help, sir? Can I help you?” I reacted harshly. “No, I can handle this chore, thank you…hey, I’m a just human being…” He got the message and quickly rolled away, hands in the air as in “okay, okay.”
It was the kind of irritating intrusion into a wheelchair user’s life that I constantly tell myself to just let pass without a thought. But I couldn’t. Why did I say “I’m just a human being”? Because, in a split second, I thought the guy saw me as less than a human being, or maybe a lesser human being, incapable of trimming a low hedge all by himself on a Sunday afternoon. I hated him for seeing a wheelchair or maybe an old man in a wheelchair and assuming I needed assistance, and hated myself for being so defensive and belligerent. And therein lies the problem.
This kind of interaction happens to all of us often. Someone stops to offer their help even though you are not struggling or wincing or lying on the ground with a bloody nose. I could be rolling up a small hill and a driver will stop in the middle of the street to ask if I need anything. All that is required is that I’m out in public doing something other than sitting in a corner, smiling.
It’s not death but aggravation by a thousand cuts. I always respond like it’s an attack on my self-worth. Is my self-worth so shaky that any such intrusion sets me off in a snit? How did the other person feel? Not good, I’m guessing. Was I misreading a friendly gesture? The whole thing, at least for me, is a confusing exchange of subliminal messages.
Maybe I should train my furtive mind to react in the exact opposite way. “Yes, you can help, thanks for asking. Just take these shears and create a perfectly trimmed surface like you would see on any hedge in Beverly Hills. I have other hedges…”
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Despite the increasing presence of disability in the media as well as large pockets of sensible people, there are plenty out there that do not feel comfortable around and often avoid or ignore the disabled or pity them or jump at a chance to be helpful, even when it is unnecessary and resented. After thousands of years of the disabled being completely marginalized and grossly mistreated, it’s not surprising. Either side is leery. The degree of progress the disabled have made in the last fifty or so years is truly remarkable compared to the virtual absence of progress since the Book of Leviticus warned that “ That’s the long view. We’ve only been at this integration phase for a few years and still getting some kinks out.
I can’t change that, but even in my later years, I should be able to change my knee-jerk reactions to comments and gestures made by people who still see us as categorically defective. Otherwise, I come off like a truculent scold not unlike the proverbial old coot who yells at the neighborhood kids to get off of his lawn. Every one of those people rushing to help no doubt think they are doing a kind, considerate thing, even if grumps like me take offense and announce they are “just a human being.”
Aren’t we all?